


To Remember

by princedamianos (cuteashale)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuteashale/pseuds/princedamianos
Summary: Submersed in enemy territory, well out of his comfort zone on the promise of a Veretian he has never met and doesn’t trust, Nikandros cannot drag his eyes away from the one man who absolutely cannot be here.





	To Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsGuinevere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsGuinevere/gifts).



> A darling left a comment and I got inspired. Hopefully this isn't quite as sad as my last Nikandros fic.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (also, disclaimer, I did borrow some lines directly from Prince's Gambit. Damen's dialogue is the same as what Pacat wrote, embellished with Nikandros' feelings on the matter.)

 

High stone walls display the might of Ravenel’s power. Nikandros has to imagine they are not a welcoming sight to anyone, least of all Akielon troops marching in on the whim of a princeling. As the portcullis lifts and allows he and his men inside, he has to wonder if this is all a mistake. If it is, they will be the victors. They outnumber the Veretian troops and though a battle inside these walls will mean losses on both sides, his will be lesser.

 

 

Atop his horse at the head of the procession, Nikandros can see the Veretian troops spread around the perimeter of the courtyard to keep back the men and women living inside the fort. Behind and alongside him, his men march into place and still at the sound of a horn, its blast deafening.

 

 

Tension holds every limb taut. No one moves.

 

 

Slowly, Nikandros brings his gaze to the man at the top of the dais.

 

 

He wears Veretian clothes but he is not Veretian. Tight-laced, gaudily patterned fabric can’t disguise his broad shoulders and heavily muscled arms, nor his towering height which dwarfs the men around him. His deep brown skin and dark curls are not solely Akielon traits, but when paired with high cheekbones and a proud, straight nose, there is no mistaking his heritage.

 

 

He is Akielon.

 

 

Submersed in enemy territory, well out of his comfort zone on the promise of a Veretian he has never met and doesn’t trust, Nikandros cannot drag his eyes away from the one man who absolutely cannot be here.

 

 

And yet.

 

 

The man on the dais steps down, walking toward him. Nikandros realizes that he is also moving, disbelief carrying his feet where reason cannot.

 

 

“The last time we spoke, the apricots were in season,” says the man, in Akielon. The ease of those words and the warmth of his voice have Nikandros’ knees nearly buckling. His heart pounds almost loud enough to drown out the man’s next words. “We walked in the night garden, and you took my arm and gave me counsel—” It can’t be. “—and I did not listen.” It _can’t_ be.

 

 

Nikandros stares. “It’s not possible,” he says, half to himself.

 

 

He remembers that walk. He remembers the smell of apricots and the comfort of a friend at his side even though that friend wouldn’t heed his warning. He remembers his anger when—after—

 

 

“Old friend,” says Damianos, his brother; his King. “You have come to a place where nothing is as any of us thought.”

 

 

Nikandros feels the breath leave him. His hands shake and his world reforms itself around this new reality where Damianos is alive and well. One knee buckles, then the other, and he drops. The rough stone floor digs into his bare skin.

 

 

 

“ _Damianos_ ,” he says, reverence in his voice. Though it is disrespectful not to, Nikandros can’t bow his head. If he does, Damen might disappear, a phantom brought about by wishful thinking. Behind him, he can hear his soldiers dropping to their knees, Damen’s name rippling through their ranks.

 

 

‘ _He lives. The King’s son lives. Damianos.'_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr :)](http://princedamianos.tumblr.com)


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